


Heavy is the Head

by sadlikeknives



Category: The Fast and the Furious (2001)
Genre: Gen, Royalty, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:28:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlikeknives/pseuds/sadlikeknives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Brian is, in addition to an undercover member of the LAPD, second in line to the throne of a small island nation off the coast of Ireland, and that comes in rather handy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy is the Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chosenfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chosenfire/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Chosenfire!

Brian weighed his options very carefully before deciding he didn't really have any left, and so when someone came to get him he told them, "I'd like to make a phone call."

 _In case of emergency,_ he thought grimly, _break glass,_ and started trying to dredge up his childhood lessons in what was technically his native tongue, although everyone spoke English over there anyway. Grandfather always liked it when he put in the effort, and he was going to need Grandfather at his absolute most buttered up on this one. Some very tightly controlled information was about to become considerably less so, but hell, it wasn't like he was going to have to work with these people again anyway.

When the lawyers arrived an hour later, Brian could finally breathe.

His grandfather couldn't exactly make the whole thing disappear. An island nation off the coast of Ireland with more sheep than people only had so much diplomatic weight to throw around, after all. But money could solve a lot of problems (the companies that had been robbed became a lot less interested in pressing charges when they were being compensated by a private party as well as their insurance), as could the insinuation that this could be exactly as embarrassing for the LAPD as for the Royal House of Conner. Moreso, really: young princes were almost expected to get into scrapes involving fast cars and the wrong crowd; young cops, not so much. The case against Dom and his crew dried up and blew away in the breeze with Brian's career in law enforcement, and Brian counted it a fair trade.

Mia must have gotten in touch with Dom somehow, because after Brian handed in his badge and gun and severed ties with the LAPD, he was waiting for him in front of the police station, leaning against the Supra with his arms folded over his chest and sunglasses like mirrors hiding his eyes. Brian eyed him warily for a moment, wondering what he thought he was here for, and wondering how much he'd heard, and then Dom said, "So let me get this straight. Brian O'Conner isn't any more real than Brian Earl Spilner."

"They're both sort of real," Brian defended. "I really am the Earl of Spilner." It was one of his subsidiary titles, but he wasn't explaining that whole complicated system to Dom right now. He didn't want him to fall asleep on him or something.

Dom looked inscrutable at him for another thirty seconds or so before declaring, "Get in the car."

Brian weighed his options in a heartbeat. He could not get in the car. A car service would be along to collect him shortly. On the other hand, this might be his last chance to slip his handlers for a good long while, and there was a lot left unfinished between him and Dom.

He got in the car. He could never have done anything else.

Dom said nothing, so Brian started talking. "My mom's American. I grew up in Barstow."

"There a lot of princes in Barstow?"

"Well, not any more. Have you ever seen pictures of Conner?"

Dom snorted. "I didn't know Conner _existed_ until yesterday."

"Yeah, well. That's fair. Have you ever seen pictures of Ireland? All green and wet...lot of sheep, looks cold?" Dom didn't bother to answer. "Conner's like that, only...more. So we tend to get out. Go somewhere dry and hot until you either can't stand that any more or you absolutely have to go back." He looked out the window, seeing a life of small talk and fancy suits (made of local wool, of course) and rain stretching out grimly before him, and muttered, "Guess now I have to go back." His grandfather was going to be bad enough, but facing his dad again would be an absolute fucking _joy_.

"Why would you have to do that?" Dom asked, his tone carefully neutral.

Brian scoffed disbelievingly. "Oh, come on. What am I gonna stay for?"

"Mia," Dom suggested, sounding like he thought it was obvious.

"Your sister probably wants my balls on a plate."

"You're not...wrong," Dom admitted. "But she's starting to come around." He knew what Dom was thinking: his sister could be the princess she already was in his eyes. He couldn't even blame him for thinking it, really. He just hated that he stopped being able to be treated like a normal person, a normal boyfriend, instead of a prize catch as soon as the titles and tiaras came out. Even to Dom. "You're a damn sight better than most of her boyfriends."

"Because I have a title?"

"...the title doesn't hurt." 

Brian snorted derisively. "Yeah, tell me about it." His name had been, he knew, bandied about the marriage markets of Europe probably since he was in diapers. So what if his country had a smaller population than Wichita, Kansas, he was the firstborn son of the firstborn son, whoever married him would be _queen_ of all those people and sheep one day. Also, they were Catholic; the two factors combined meant his grandfather had been happy to leave him in America mostly to keep him away from the Hapsburgs, when it all came down to it. "No, I actually have to go back. My grandfather pulled some strings to smooth everything over; I owe him...a bunch of engagements or whatever. Probably a new patronage or two."

"You could come back, though," Dom suggested, and he sounded almost nervous. "What you did, you didn't have to do. You could've sprung your own royal ass and left the rest of us to twist in the wind."

"No, I couldn't have," Brian protested.

"Exactly," Dom said, like Brian had agreed with him or something. "So...you could come back. Door's always open."

There were, Brian thought bitterly, not that many people in the world who wanted him around for who he was instead of what he was. He should probably take him up on the offer while he had a chance, even if he knew in his heart of hearts that Vince was going to call him 'princess' forever. Instead, he said, "I'll think about it."

Dom turned the corner, and Brian realized they were headed back to the police station. That probably made sense. No point in accidentally being accused of kidnapping a prince when he'd just dodged charges through association with said prince. "So are you the family disappointment, now?" he asked, and Brian had to laugh.

"Seeing as how my scandal involved neither hookers nor rehab, that's still my cousin Colm. I'm probably in third place."

"Who's second place?" Dom wanted to know, and Brian looked back out the window.

"My dad."

Dom didn't say anything to that. Two right turns later, he pulled back up in front of the police station, behind the waiting town car. "Why doesn't it have tiny flags?" he wanted to know.

"I don't rate those."

"That's a ripoff."

"Tell me about it." He sat, waiting, for a moment, but Dom made no movement whatsoever. "Are you gonna give me my car back?"

"You're a prince," Dom pointed out. "Go buy a Porsche or something."

"Pretty sure I'm grounded."

"So get a Volvo."

"That's harsh, man."

Dom chuckled, then said, "Get out of my car." Brian got out of the car, feeling lighter than he had in days. The feeling only intensified when Dom yelled after him, "And don't be a royal stranger!"

"Do you think that's funny?" Brian called back to him, and Dom replied by peeling off without another word.

"Your highness?" the chauffeur waiting by the car asked tentatively, and Brian sighed and squared his shoulders.

"Yep," he confirmed. "That's me." Time to face the music.


End file.
